


Devenir Gris

by orphan_account



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: ANYWAY this is an alastor before he dies horribly fic lmao, Cannibalism, Death, F/M, IDK BRO THAT MIGHT SHOW UP, Slow Burn, Suicide, Violence, after reading a bunch of stephen king books, also i’m revamping the tags rn, and rewatching the silence of the lambs, because i wanted to write something a bit dark and suspenseful, don’t expect any smut btw alastor is asexual, they were too long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s 1929, your husband is dead, your thoughts are all over the place, and now some strange man you met on a bridge in the middle of the night has whisked you away into a world of complete and utter insanity.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Female Reader - Relationship, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 204





	1. Etré Incinéré

**Author's Note:**

> Sent la pluie comme un été Anglais  
Entends les notes d'une chanson lointaine  
Sortant de derrière d'un poster  
Espérant que la vie ne fut aussi longue

You weren’t quite sure what time it was. All you knew was that a terribly long afternoon had turned into a terribly long night, which would likely begin turning into a terribly long morning very soon. The only indication of the time was the starless night sky above you and the empty street below you. New Orleans had never seemed so empty, so bare. 

The funeral had ended hours ago, and you had left without a single farewell to anyone. You doubt anyone even noticed or cared about your sudden disappearance. It was raining in intervals then and it was raining in intervals now, yet you didn’t mind. In fact, you barely even registered the drizzle. You were far too lost in your own thoughts.

You found him dead in his study five days ago, on the morning of July 27th, 1929. He was seated at his desk, facedown on the peeling wood surface. You thought he was asleep, at first. It wouldn’t have been the first time you found him passed out on the job, so to speak. He did have a tendency to overwork himself, after all. But then you saw the pistol lying haphazardly next to him, the blood drying in his matted hair, the sea of red puddling at his feet, and you knew exactly what happened.

You don’t remember much else from that day, only that someone within the complex had found you seated outside your apartment, knees lifted to your chin and arms wrapped around your legs like a scared child. You weren’t crying then and you weren’t crying now. In fact, you hadn’t cried once in the five days following his death. You weren’t grief-stricken at all.

In some strange, morbid way, you had never been happier.

Your hands tightened around the railing as you peered down the side of the arch bridge you were currently positioned on, watching as the waterway far below you drifted in and out of the sewer grates surrounding the channel on each side. Directly beneath you were a group of large rocks, standing unmoving against the waves of Adam’s ale that constantly seemed to be bombarding them. The water was jet black, like a sea of ink, and you found yourself mesmerized by the beauty of it. 

“Are you going to jump?”

You turned around swiftly, nearly toppling over the railing in the process. A tall figure stood opposite of you, barely illuminated by the flickering lamp posts positioned periodically along the bridge.

You stood there in stunned silence for a moment, unsure of what to say, before catching your breath and responding with the only thing that came to mind.

“What?”

The person in front of you laughed, a laugh that felt just as genuine as it felt spurious. It made you uncomfortable. It made you want to run, run as far away from here as possible. Yet, against your better judgement, you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The figure casually strolled towards you, revealing a rather handsome man in the light of the lamp post nearest to you. His hair was as dark as his well-pressed suit, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He smiled pleasantly, as if stumbling upon strangers out before the break of dawn was a common occurrence for him. His smile made you just as uncomfortable as his laugh did.

“I said, are you going to jump? Because if you are, I’d suggest finding another bridge to leap to your death from. Those rocks won’t kill you on impact, if that’s what you were hoping for. They’re closer than they appear. You’ll likely land abruptly, break a few bones, and lay there in agony until either someone stumbles across your mangled body or you simply die of exposure.”

You tilted your head to the side, face furled in a look of complete and utter confusion.

The man took one hand and waved it absentmindedly as he shook his head. “Oh don’t mind me and my jabbering. Do what you like. After all, it’s your life. Or rather, death, I suppose!” He laughed at his own words before extending his hand towards you. “Alastor. Nice to meet you.” 

You looked between his face and his hand, before hesitantly offering yours. He grasped it eagerly, and shook it with the enthusiasm of a salesman about to make the deal of a lifetime. “I’m, uh- (Y/N). And, for the record, I wasn’t going to jump.”

“Oh?” He cocked an eyebrow and motioned with his free hand over the railing and towards the channel below you. “Then what were you going to do?”

You pulled your hand away from his. “I was-,” you reached into the pocket of your overcoat and pulled out a small urn, “-going to sprinkle these in the water.” 

His eyes moved to the urn in your palm, and his smile faltered ever so slightly, out of what appeared to be confusion. “Are those...ashes?”

You nodded and leaned over the railing, elbows balanced carefully on the top beam. “My husband’s. I couldn’t afford a bigger urn, so this is really only a fraction of him. He always told me he’d like to be cremated and sprinkled into the San Francisco Bay. I don’t have San Francisco Bay money, so he’s getting this bridge instead.”

You suddenly removed the lid of the urn and stretched your arm out over the channel, unceremoniously sprinkling the ashes straight down into the murky depths, followed closely by the entire urn itself. Upon hearing it shatter satisfyingly on the rocks, you promptly threw the lid in after it. 

You wiped your hands on your overcoat, and turned back towards Alastor, who’s already wide grin had become even wider. You stared at each other in silence, before you finally spoke up. “What is it?”

Alastor responded almost immediately, still smiling like a mad man and refusing to break eye contact. “I just...didn’t expect that. That’s all.” 

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m full of surprises. Now if you’ll excuse me-,”

“Wait!”

Alastor grabbed your arm and pulled you back towards him. Rather violently, at that. You would have fallen if it weren’t for his sturdy grip. You narrowed your eyes at him, from both anger and fear, and prepared to berate him for his actions before he started rambling again. 

“I don’t believe it to be the wisest idea for a young woman such as yourself to wander around like this before the break of dawn, what, with these grisly murders happening and all!” He laughed tersely before continuing. “Would you care for me to accompany you?”

You frowned at him, teeth clenched and eyes still narrowed. “I have a knife.” 

He glanced down to your free arm, which was currently reaching into your coat pocket and retrieving a rusty butterfly knife. 

His smile didn’t fade in the slightest as he examined the blade. “Ah, so you do! But that little thing won’t protect you from a big, bad murderer, now will it?” 

“It might-,”

He plucked the knife from your hand before you even had a chance to react, and threw it nonchalantly to the side. Tightening his grip, he leaned closer towards you, mere inches from your face, and began to speak, his voice taking on an almost threatening tone. “Seriously. I insist.”

You stared him down, unsure if he was truly being serious or not. Either way, it was a very strange display. A strange display that was beginning to annoy and alarm you at the same time. Yet, despite both emotions, you found yourself overwhelmed with the feeling of defeat. There was no point in trying to get out of whatever this was. Not at the moment, at least. Going along with it for now would probably give you a better chance at getting the hell out of dodge later. 

“Fine. Now will you  _ please  _ let go of my arm?

His grin broadened, and he quickly released your arm and backed up, clasping both hands together as if whatever that was hadn’t just happened. “Splendid! It’s nearly the break of dawn, perhaps we could get some breakfast? Of course we can get some breakfast! I know a lovely little café just north of-,”

He quickly strode ahead of you, still rambling on, and you followed him, but not before retrieving your knife off the wet concrete.  _ Just for consolation,  _ you told yourself,  _ just in case.  _


	2. Heure du Matin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter kind of stops suddenly because i’m tired and in need of a nap and i really just wanted to go ahead and post this lol.

Trying to keep up with Alastor was next to impossible, in more ways than one. Everything about him was fast paced, from his speech to his movement. You found yourself trailing behind him, listening to him chatter about this and that, not really absorbing much of anything he said. You weren’t sure how anyone could be this upbeat this early in the morning.

And it  _ was  _ morning by now. The sky had faded from a dark blue to a light orange, and the birds of the city had decided it was time to collectively make their presence known. Between Alastor’s yapping and the birds’ squawking, you could hardly think.

And there was certainly much to think about. 

You hadn’t made a run for it yet, like you were originally planning on doing. There were quite a few people mulling about the city, tending to their morning tasks. You could’ve easily slipped through them and left Alastor in the wind. Hell, he probably wouldn't have even noticed your absence. He probably would’ve kept rambling on as if you were still there. 

And yet, you never took the chance. You weren’t sure why. Either you were losing your marbles or you were too tired and dazed to care at this point. Perhaps you were both: crazy and wearied. Seemed about right.

Or perhaps some part of you, for whatever reason, found this bizarre man intriguing. Intriguing enough to warrant staying around a bit longer, at least. 

“-and what about you, dear?” 

You looked up from your shuffling feet, which you had been awkwardly staring at since you turned on this street, to find Alastor glancing curiously back at you over his shoulder. 

“Oh, uh-,” You picked up your pace and he slowed down enough to allow you to walk side by side with him. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

He laughed and inattentively waved away his own question, obviously amused by your dazed state. “Oh, it’s no matter! I suppose you haven’t been paying much attention, have you?” 

“No, I guess not.” You shrugged.

He laughed once again at your response, seemingly no offense taken. “My apologies for being a bore. I work in radio, I quite literally get paid to run my mouth,” he explained coolly, “although you would know that already if you had paid any attention to my little spiel.” 

He shot a mock accusatory look towards you, but you barely noticed it as his words sunk in.

“Wait...radio? You work in radio?” Everything suddenly made sense.  _ Of course  _ he worked in radio. He was  _ Alastor.  _ The radio host your husband used to listen to every single evening. The radio host who’d been reporting on the recent murders plaguing New Orleans. The radio host who also played some pretty swell jazz in between reports. 

He didn’t respond, instead he scrutinized your expression, obviously very aware that you knew who he was by now. That seemed to please him. He pulled his focus away from you and back to the cityscape, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of something. 

“Ah, here we are!  _ Café des Amoureux _ !”

He pointed excitedly towards a building a few paces ahead of you, and you followed his motion. Calling it  _ Café des Amoureux  _ was a bit too generous. It actually said  _ afé des Amoureux _ , the ‘C’ lettering on the sign was lying haphazardly against the window next to the entrance. It looked as if it had been disregarded a long time ago. In fact, the whole building looked as if it had been disregarded a long time ago. The busted window panes hanging over the dead flowers by the front door really did sell the  _ Amoureux  _ look. 

You shot an uncertain glance at Alastor, who didn’t take heed of it in the slightest, as he was already sprinting ahead of you towards the establishment. You groaned before running after him, yet another action that led you to question your own sanity this fine morning.

The inside of the café wasn’t much different from the outside, although it was ever so slightly livelier. There were no other customers in sight, but the counter was staffed by a short woman with wild, curly hair and an ebullient disposition that rivaled Alastor’s own. She recognized him immediately upon his entrance, and nearly fell over as she jumped up and down and enthusiastically waved him over. 

“Al! You ain’t stopped by here in ages, where the blazes have you been?,” She chastised him as he approached her, “I thought I was gonna have to hunt you down and drag you back here myself.”

He laughed as he clasped her hands in his own, “My apologies, Nell. I’ve been very busy.” 

The woman called Nell rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, folding her arms as her gaze fell upon you, her expression brightening. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. And who’s this little doll?”

You weren’t paying any attention, instead admiring a collage of old family photographs decorating the wall nearest to the counter. They dated all the way from 1885 to 1929, and featured a variety of subjects. One of the more recent photographs caught your eye, and you felt as if you recognized it in some strange, unfamiliar way. Before you could even begin to process it, Alastor grabbed your arm and pulled you back to his side, his arm linked tightly around yours.

“This,” he motioned eagerly to you with his free hand, “is (Y/N)! (Y/N), Nell. Nell, (Y/N).” 

You blinked several times in a dazed attempt to recover from another one of Alastor’s violent arm yankings, before halfheartedly waving to Nell. She didn’t wave back. Instead, she eyed you up and down, from your worn and fatigued boots to your completely blank expression. Her look of intense scrutinization was quickly replaced with a look of friendliness. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, doll! So,” she turned her attention back to Alastor, “what’ll it be?”


	3. Suer Sang et Eau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t really have anything to say here other than i’m getting over being very sick so if this chapter has crackhead energy it’s because of the sheer amount of nyquil and aleve and antibiotics i consumed while writing it

You sat silently at the counter as you waited for Nell to bring out your order from the kitchen. Or, rather, Alastor’s order, as he didn’t exactly ask you what you wanted before he loudly announced that “two dark roast coffees are _ just _what we need!” with the enthusiasm of a man who has drank nothing but coffee his entire life.

You weren’t much of a coffee drinker actually—you preferred tea—but you figured it’d be best not to express that. Instead, you kept quiet, let your head fall to the crook of your arms, and tapped your fingers on the surface of the counter nervously.

Alastor seemed to take note of this, as you could see his eyes glued to you from your peripheral vision, observing, no, _ considering _you. It made you uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just because you hadn’t seen him blink once since you noticed him watching you. No, it was more than that.

_ Tap, tap, tap, tap. _

The way he looked at you wasn’t normal.

_ Tap, tap, tap, tap. _

He looked at you like a hunter who had finally managed to trap his quarry. A hunter who was eagerly preparing to end this chase with one fatal, final blow.

_ Tap, tap, tap, tap. _

You wished Nell would hurry up with the damn coffee already, just sitting here like this was working you up into a full blown panic attack.

_ Tap, tap, tap, tap. _

Why weren’t you this anxious back on the bridge?

_ Tap, tap, tap, tap. _

Why were you still here?

_ Silence. _

You snapped back to reality just as Nell pushed open the kitchen door, carrying two steaming cups of coffee on a small tray and smiling cheerfully as she scurried over.

“Sorry for the wait ya’ll, damn coffee grinder was stalling on me.” She explained as she placed both cups in front of you and Alastor. Hot coffee spilled over the side of yours, dripping lightly onto the countertop.

You watched the dark liquid drip for several moments, forming a small puddle at the base of the cup. It was mesmerizing, like the waterway beneath the bridge was earlier.

Earlier?

Your experience on the bridge felt so long ago, so bygone. There was no way you had been standing there in the rain only hours earlier. You felt as if you’d passed lifetimes in this rundown café.

The cup continued to leak as if it were the focus of a motion picture, only now it wasn’t coffee dripping down the side. It was blood. Your husband’s blood.

You experienced it all over again. His limp body lying over his desk like a rag doll, his pistol lying precariously on the surface, his blood puddling on the floor, his own brain matter decorating the back of his chair.

Yet, despite the gory nature of the scene, you weren’t particularly upset by it, not now and not then. Not in any sensible way, at least. Your very first thought after stumbling upon his gruesome corpse was questioning how the hell you would get all of his blood out of the floorboards, and _ that’s _what upset you.

Not his death, but the death of whatever emotions you should have felt right then.

Your apathy to the situation terrified you, and it put you into a near catatonic state, hence the position you were in within the hallway of your apartment complex.

Was that what this was? Another forced reality check of your own desensitization? Why were you so desensitized in the first place? _ What the hell happened_?

You blinked away your thoughts and pushed the cup of coffee away from you with such force that it fell off the counter and shattered on the floor, spilling coffee on the tiles, the liquid spreading like ashes.

No, not like ashes. You couldn’t go through that again. You needed to leave. You turned to Alastor and Nell, who were both staring at you with a mixture of curiosity and, in the case of Alastor, amusement. You didn’t know if they had just tuned into your breakdown or if they’d been watching from the start, but you didn’t exactly care to know at the moment. You needed to leave _ right now_, and that was that.

You muttered an apology and hurried towards the door, not bothering to offer any sort of genuine explanation. You pulled the door open and ran out into the street, disappearing through a herd of pedestrians and heading towards the direction of your apartment. It wasn’t too far from here. 

You glanced back towards the café to find Alastor standing in the doorway, looking as ominous as ever yet making no moves to follow you. You turned onto the next street and didn’t stop running until you were in the lobby of your apartment complex.


End file.
